


rotten work

by SyntheticRevenge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post MAG176, did this resolve anything?? probably not, you know...to a point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25369102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyntheticRevenge/pseuds/SyntheticRevenge
Summary: Martin bites his lip and inhales sharply, clearly finally gearing up for whatever vaguely-to-aggressively shitty line he’s probably been re-writing and proofing in his mind like his poetry, but instead, he squeaks a “Basira?”“Hmm?” she grunts, somewhat disinterestedly. Jon’s sure she’ll come around to human contact eventually. Maybe.“Do you--uh--do you mind if Jon and I have a...a bit of a fight?” he asks, voice still small, and Jon laughs softly.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 7
Kudos: 299





	rotten work

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh I loved 176 and especially Jon's characterization in it and I had to write something. This...didn't end up going how I wanted but it felt good to write and I hope you enjoy it.

They follow Basira in silence, and with every minute that passes, Jon can feel Martin get more upset, closer and closer to exploding with it. It’s in the hunch in his shoulders, the death-glare at the ground under his feet. Jon doesn’t have to  _ know _ Martin to know him anymore, and it’s almost a comfort, to be that familiar with someone.

Of course, he also knows that Martin’s upset with him, as usual, though he can’t quite tell  _ why _ , as usual. He’s sure Martin will let him know before long, and they’ll have one of their passive-aggressive non-fights and dig themselves deeper into the pit of bitter dissatisfaction that’s been gradually opening under them.

Jon always suspected that’s what real love would be. Certainly Georgie was dissatisfied with him a lot of the time, and he deserved it. He certainly deserves it from Martin, but it never stops him from the instinct to bite back. He has no flight instinct, it’s always just fight, always has been. 

Martin bites his lip and inhales sharply, clearly finally gearing up for whatever vaguely-to-aggressively shitty line he’s probably been re-writing and proofing in his mind like his poetry, but instead, he squeaks a “Basira?”

“Hmm?” she grunts, somewhat disinterestedly. Jon’s sure she’ll come around to human contact eventually. Maybe. 

“Do you--uh--do you mind if Jon and I have a...a bit of a fight?” he asks, voice still small, and Jon laughs softly.

“Do I get a say in this?” he asks.

“No,” Martin says, stubbornly, and Jon can’t stop himself from smiling.

“Alright.”

“You’re going to whether I say it’s okay or not,” Basira says, flatly. “Don’t bother with the formality.”

“I don’t get what you’re so fucking amused by,” Martin snaps at Jon, who quickly consciously wipes the smile off his face.

“Absolutely nothing,” Jon says. “What are we having a fight about? Catch me up, please.”

“Do you really not know?”

“I really don’t know,” Jon says. “It’s always something, certainly, but it’s hard to guess, and I’m not allowed to  _ know _ , so. Never let it be said that you’re predictable.”

“I could’ve  _ died _ ,” Martin says--shouts--and it echoes across the ruined land around them. Jon tries very hard to keep the intrusive thoughts of Martin bleeding out on the ground firmly restrained, and it is, as always, easier than he expects.

“I wasn’t going to let that happen, Martin,” Jon says, calmly, slowly, firmly, like he’s speaking to a child. He never  _ means _ to treat Martin that way, but he sometimes can’t help himself, sometimes it feels like Martin’s just throwing a tantrum because he can’t control anything. Jon would like to do the same, though, so it’s hard to judge.

“Oh, yeah? Really?” Martin asks, crossing his arms. “What were you going to do if he actually stabbed me, Jon?”

“He wasn’t going to,” Jon sighs. “For all of that--”

“I don’t want you to psychoanalyze a dead man, Jon, I want you to answer my fucking question,” Martin snaps, and Jon’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Yes--well--” Jon says, then sighs. “Look, Martin, really, it’s a pointless conversation, because it wasn’t going to--”

“You were taunting him. You were having  _ fun _ ,” Martin says. “Don’t try to deny it.”

“Fine, I won’t,” Jon says, tightly, even though he’d like to, because there was absolutely nothing fun about trying to keep Martin calm so he didn’t get stabbed. “Your point?”

“My--my  _ point _ ? My point is you were playing around with my fucking  _ life _ , Jon!” Martin says, full-on hugging himself, shoulders up nearly to his ears. 

“Martin, for the last time, you were safe,” Jon says. “I would never let him or anyone else hurt you.”

“You really believe you have that power, don’t you?” Martin asks, sounding a little disbelieving. “I mean, you’re really drinking your own Kool-Aid now, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Jon says, genuinely offended and confused by the question.

“I mean you’ve  _ changed _ since the cabin, you’re--you scare me, sometimes, you know that? It’s like you don’t  _ feel  _ anything. Like--like you really believe what Simon and Helen told you, that you’re--that you’re the most powerful being on the planet,” Martin says.

“I  _ am _ ,” Jon says, and it’s a simple statement of fact, something that he  _ knows _ without searching for it. Once they said it, he knew it was true. He tries not to think about it, tries not to feel anything about it, because that would be an overwhelming torrent of anxiety and self-hatred he doesn’t need to release. 

“You couldn’t have stopped Trevor from killing me if he’d wanted to.”

“He wasn’t going-- _ fine _ , Martin, maybe. Maybe you’re right. What’s the point re-litigating? You’re here, you’re alive, I’m alive, Basira’s alive, it’s all very fucking fortuitous,” Jon snaps. 

“I want  _ my _ Jon back,” Martin mutters, staring at the ground and hugging himself tighter, and the words shake something ugly and vicious loose in Jon.

How dare he? Jon is trying, trying so  _ fucking _ hard to be who he was, to not let any of this overwhelm and destroy him and he is doing a  _ good job _ considering the circumstances.

“Which Jon was that, exactly, Martin?” Jon asks, voice dangerously even, cocking his head. “Was that the man who mocked and disparaged you at every turn? Who denied your attempts at kindness time after time? Or the man who suspected you of wanting to kill him? Or, what, the monster that fed on innocent people’s fear and haunted their fucking nightmares?”

“Stop,” Martin mutters.

“I’m not a  _ good man _ , Martin, I never have been, but you chose me,” Jon says, laughing a little. “Or--no, no, I’m wrong.” He pauses a moment, doubt flickering through his mind, thinking maybe this isn’t a knife he should twist, but once the casual cruelty starts pouring out of him it’s hard for him to shut it back off. It feels  _ good _ to let go every once in a while. “You want the broken mess of a half-man I was after I ended the world, don’t you? You want something you can take care of. Well--”

He’s glad Martin cuts him off.

“How could you  _ say _ that?” Martin asks, his voice tiny, choked, and Jon suddenly feels every inch of the monster he is again. Shame pulses thick through his body. “You think I want you to be fucking  _ suicidal  _ again? Do you think that was fun for me? Dragging your fucking catatonic body off the floor into bed? Waiting for you to say something-- _ anything _ to me? Why would I want that?”

“Martin, I’m sorry, I--” Jon starts, but Martin shakes his head.

“No, it’s--it’s fine, it’s my fault,” Martin says. “You’re you. You’re...you’re the _you_ I love, I have to...I have to get used to that.”

“You didn’t ask to fall in love with a monster, I know that,” Jon says, softly. “I  _ am _ sorry that--”

“Would you stop it? You’re  _ not _ a fucking monster and I wish...I wish you’d stop--” Martin starts, but he stops when Jon starts laughing, darkly, on the edge of hysteria. Basira even snorts.

Jon searches for a way to ask the question that isn’t horrifically mean, doesn’t hurt Martin any more than it has to, but thankfully, Helen is always watching and never tactful, and she leans out of a door to thin air with “Oh, Martin, that’s a good one! Are you in denial, delusional, or just a liar?”

“Fuck off, Helen,” Martin snaps, and she beams.

“No! This is fun.”

“I’m not--I’m none of those things, Jon  _ isn’t _ a monster,” Martin says. “You’re not.”

“Martin, I appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but--” Jon says, sighing. “It’s undeniable, I’m living off of human fear and misery, there’s nothing that isn’t monstrous about that.”

“Well,” Martin says, voice small. “You’re destroying the things that cause that fear, so--”

“And it changes nothing, Martin, we talked about this, it just makes me more like them,” Jon says, softly. 

“Just get over yourselves,” Basira sighs. “Martin, trust me, being in love with a monster could feel a lot fucking worse, just accept it and move on and it’ll feel better.”

“This isn’t about Daisy!” Martin shouts. “This isn’t about  _ you _ , this isn’t about  _ Helen _ , this isn’t--”

“Oh, fuck off,” Basira says. “You are  _ so _ entitled, you know? You want him for years, you get him, and--”

“Shut up! Just stop! You just got here, and I need--”

“You know, if we’re having ‘a fight’,” Jon says, complete with airquotes, trying to deflect attention away from Basira so Martin doesn’t accidentally antagonize her into shooting him, “I’m getting quite fucking sick of you treating me like an inconvenience for doing things I have no control over.”

“I…” Martin starts, like he’s going to defend himself, but he quickly deflates. “No, you’re...that’s fair, actually. I’m...I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Jon says. “Thank you.”

“Just...Jon, I...I don’t want to have to take care of you, you know, and it--I don’t like that you think that,” Martin says, softly. “I mean, I will. I love you, and I will.”

“I know.”

“I...I wouldn’t mind being taken care of, too.” Martin shrugs, swallows hard.

“I’m doing my best,” Jon says. “I haven’t let anything hurt you yet. I don’t plan on that changing.”

“Okay,” Martin says, voice small. “Just...just talk to me, okay? I’d...I’d really like to actually have a clue what’s going on and what I’m getting into...ever, really.”

“Okay,” Jon says. “I love you too.”

“I know that.” Martin’s voice is soft, and he nods along with his own words. “I know you’re trying.”

“Martin, I need you to believe that if I ever lost you--if I ever let you get hurt, I would never forgive myself,” Jon says. He knows it’s true as much as he can know any hypothetical is true. Can feel the guilt and loss and shame from everyone else he’s lost between his ribs like a knife, stinging and ever-present and inescapable. Martin would be a crushing weight he would never be able to lift off or forget.

“I believe you.”

“Good.” Jon reaches up and pulls Martin’s hand off of where it’s curled tightly around the strap of his backpack. He squeezes, and Martin squeezes back.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jon says. “It’s... _ I’m _ sorry.”

“Well, if I don't get to apologize, you don’t get to apologize either.”

“Alright,” Jon says, laughing softly.

“Touching,” Basira says. “Are you fucking done?”

“For now,” Martin says.

“Great.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All feedback is greatly appreciated <3  
> find me on tumblr @witnesstotheend!


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